Under my Duvet

I haven't posted in a long while. This short piece seemed appropriate in these times.   The figures on her windowsill glittered in the watery evening sun. She wasn’t sure what time it was – she couldn’t see from here, cocooned in her bed, but the last strains of light struggled through the branches of…

How to have a spooktacular vegan Halloween – UK style!

One of the trickiest parts of going vegan, albeit, one of the most trivial, was how to handle holidays. Christmas with no Quality Street? Easter with no eggs? Surely these festive celebrations would be unrecognisable without the traditional culinary comforts I had grown up with? Luckily, it’s not been at all difficult to replicate all…

The Mannequin Farm

It's been a while! Here is another creepypasta I've cobbled together - always good procrastination from 'proper' writing! * I think I’m finally at the point where I’m able to talk about it. It’s been several years since it happened. None of us - not me, nor my friend, brother, or brother’s friend, who also…

A Midwinter Tale

It was about ten years ago now that I had the strangest Christmas of my life. I still look back on it with both fondness and fear; remembering my first Christmas - the first of several - as a divorced man, and how I ended up getting lost in a fleecy blanket of snow on…

Blue Lights

Blue lights are Christmas Icy bulbs on dim streets Wound round spindly trees Looks like snow   Blue lights are ambulances Hurtling through the streets Flashing on and off On and off like sirens   Blue lights are shop fronts Illuminating the archways Running down the pavements Tumbling like a stream   Blue lights are…

All Hallow’s Eve

When I was a child, there was nothing I loved more than visiting my grandmother. Of course, most children love their grandparents, as grandparents tend to indulge, and I certainly was indulged. But, more than that, I loved my grandmother. She had such fantastical stories, and we would laugh wildly all day about nothing at…

The Grey Lady of Westwick

John Watkins warmed himself by the fire crackling in the grate. Orange embers scuttled over the logs, clutched at the brick, stole away like a timid lover. He listened to the low hum of the men talking. It was soothing to hear the murmuring in the low-lit drawing room, as gentle laughter and the clink…

The Abbey

A short taster for a longer story I have written...   Proud, bat-like, it gazed over the cliff as the sea fought with the rocks below. The abbey was in ruins – built by monks long turned to dust in the graveyard adjacent to it – but some of its grandeur still remained: the archway…

Call my Name

My first creepypasta attempt! Hope you enjoy.   * The house had an uneasy feeling about it. Mark had seen it first, and he’d fallen in love with it. She knew that any house she showed him after that would never match up to the chocolate box cottage on the outskirts of the small, old…